Garage Sale Glory, Or One Man’s Garbage…
What a glorious time the spring is round these here parts. Fellow scavengers know the feeling. Every corner holds the promise of that glittering prize: cheap stuff. Homemade signs and haggling, the refuse of someone’s clutter smelling musty and ripe for the plucking. I myself am partial to the slogging wade through countless bins of records. Granted most are primarily populated by the bargain bin behemoths of Barbara Streisand, Englebert Humperdink and any other assortment of old organ versions of 1970’s greatest pop toppers. But of course, for every forty or fifty discs that most would find useful as coffee table levels or ornate frisbees, I find the crackling and popping (hopefully not skipping) warbles of Nat King Cole, Sam Cooke or, dare I hope for it, Mr. James Brown. Given the price of most used records, you can find some sweet album artwork at least for your super-cool bedroom wall collage.
I found such sundries this last weekend at the magnificent Garage Sale hosted by the mighty Town Square Media. Having my bike pedals stolen somewhat threw a wrench in the gears (pun intended) and I spent an unnecessary couple of hours futzing around to get myself down there. Every minute that passed I was neurotically fussing about what sweet old album I would never have the chance to haggle. Who was taking home my Nina Simone and Louis Prima records? I made it in time to grab some select loving, but couldn’t help feeling a little bit shunted out of my nerdy record hunting zone. All because someone jacked the hooves from my steed.
Do not let this happen to you. Get up early, be the first to find your destined record, coffee table or tchotchkes. Do the garage sale right and you will never run out of sweet, sweet stuff that someone else was about to toss. If you ask Mr. Carlin (rest in peace,) having that stuff is what it is all about. peace